Tryouts
by EHWIES
Summary: Sirius Black has always made Remus somewhat uncomfortable. Implied Remus/Sirius.


**Tryouts**

Truth be told, Sirius Black has always made Remus somewhat uncomfortable.

To this day, he's still not sure how they ever became mates. He reckons that James had something to do with it—James is always the one who has something to do with everything, it seems. One minute, it was Sirius-and-James reluctantly sharing a dormitory with Peter-and-Remus; the next, they were falling into friendship, James roping them all into his crazy pranks and schemes and somehow bringing them together along the way. People started calling them marauders, a fearless foursome, though Remus still doesn't quite understand how it ever worked out that way.

But Sirius… Sirius is the worst of it. James may be the one to drag Remus into things, but it's always Sirius who comes up with the most dangerous ideas, who lands them all in the most precarious predicaments without even intending to, without even _realizing_ it—puts Remus out of his comfort zone, seemingly by accident. But Remus knows it can't really be by accident; not when it comes to Sirius, _never_ when it comes to Sirius.

He knew it was a bad idea to try out for Quidditch. Remus has never been that sporty of a bloke, but Sirius got it into his head that the four of them should all go out for the team, and now here he is, rejected for a spot as Keeper, thoroughly humiliated for the day, and all on account of a fool he somehow started calling his mate however many months ago.

"We've got to stop letting them talk us into this stuff," he's telling Peter as they walk off the Quidditch pitch, heads bowed and pride beaten. _Them_, he says, because James was the one who persuaded them to do it, because Sirius occupies enough space in his mind already that he doesn't need to single him out in conversation, too. "We should have known we wouldn't make the team. I can't even remember the last time I exercised before that tryout."

"Me neither," agrees Peter solemnly, kicking up dirt as he walks. "Now, I _could_ tell you how many pastries I've eaten in the last week, though, and let me just say that it's not a pretty number."

Shaking his head, Remus sighs, "My legs feel like jelly. I'm just lucky that Bludger I took to the head didn't give me a concussion."

There's a long pause. "What's a concussion?" Peter asks finally.

"Never mind. It's a Muggle thing; there's probably some potion that cures it in an instant," dismisses Remus, half appalled, half entertained. Peter's not the brightest bulb in the box, one could say, but even if the extent of what he doesn't know can sometimes be shocking, Remus knows he's a real friend and values that, especially with two such… questionable mates by comparison. "I think I'll stop by the locker room and take a quick shower before I head back up to the castle; can you let James and Sirius know if they're asking for me?"

"Yeah, 'course," says Peter mildly, and they part, just like that.

As he steps into the Gryffindor locker room, he's humming a slightly feminine little ditty, all full of high notes and trills, and he tries to tell himself that this is why he's mortified to find the showers already occupied by—who else?—Sirius Black. To be perfectly honest, he should have known. Sirius _would_ be the inconvenient presence when one's expecting privacy, and Remus's luck hasn't been the best today, anyway.

"Sirius," he greets, maybe a little too gruffly to compensate for the musical humiliation, and puts quite a bit of effort into averting his eyes from his mate's bare chest.

Sirius tosses him a further embarrassing over-the-shoulder glance that reminds Remus of overacting for a Muggle model shoot. "Remus," he says, the corners of his lips turning up, before he whips around again and douses his soapy hair under the water.

Five seconds of interaction, and already, Remus is starting to doubt whether he should stay. He's half tempted to turn right around and wash off in the privacy of a Hogwarts bathroom, and perhaps this is why he says a little foolishly, "I-I can do this up at the castle if you want—"

But Sirius, shaking his head, interrupts, "Nah, it's fine, it's just a shower, mate. I'll be out in a minute, anyway."

Remus doesn't know why this is throwing him off so badly, except maybe because it's one thing to change into pajamas behind four-poster curtains in the same room by routine every night and quite another to be caught off guard like this. It's not a big deal, it's _not_, but Remus is a tad too modest for his own good sometimes, and Sirius Black has always made him uncomfortable.

"So did you or Peter make Keeper? Me and James would've stayed to watch your tryouts, but he got Chaser and had to catch up with the rest of the team or whatever, so I figured I'd wash up in the interim."

Oh, right, that's directed at him—Remus rubs his temples and refocuses. "No," he says abruptly after a pause, "some sixth year bird did. Should have known we'd be rubbish at it."

"Sorry, mate," says Sirius offhand, his voice somehow both muffled by the steam and amplified by the echoing walls.

"'S okay. Wasn't really important to either of us, anyway," he says mildly. After a moment of thought, he realizes the implication behind Sirius's words. "I'm sorry you didn't make Beater, Sirius."

He shrugs and steps out from under the water. Remus averts his eyes, but to his shock and slight horror, Sirius doesn't reach for his towel _or_ the faucet. Next thing he knows, Sirius is brushing past him and clapping him on the back, his calloused skin hot and rubbed raw from the shower, and saying, "All yours, Lupe, and don't sweat it—better luck next year, right?"

Remus is out of his comfort zone tonight, all right.


End file.
